


Do You Believe in Miracles?

by Rachel_Carter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy, Homeless AU, Homeless Castiel, Hurt!Cas, Hurt/Comfort, Laundromat, M/M, Non-Supernatural AU, Rich Dean, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:38:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Carter/pseuds/Rachel_Carter
Summary: Dean visits a laundromat for the first time and meets a mysterious and damaged man. Their relationship grows when Dean invites him home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my best work, but I just wanted to write something fun. If you have any suggestions/feedback/criticism please leave a comment! I'd really love feedback so I can try to improve.

Dean swore violently under his breath, slamming his fist down against the washing machine. It finally whirred to life, and Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head to himself. He went to rest against the machine, but noticed the fine coat of filth and reconsidered, walking to the wall and leaning back. He folded his arms across his chest.

The fluorescent lights painted the walls of the laundromat an off-white, and emphasised the dirt on the peeling wallpaper. The old machines stood in lines, some in use, but most empty. Greying tiles paved the floor, and the mid-morning sun filtered weakly through the grimy storefront windows. There was no one else in the room – even the greasy-haired owner had left half an hour ago for a smoke and had never returned. 

Dean wasn’t one to visit laundromats. In fact, before this morning, Dean had never set foot in a laundromat, let alone used one. However, with the washing machines in his upper-class apartment broken for nearly two weeks, and plumbers yet to identify the problem, he was out of options. 

Dean scuffed one of his leather shoes against the floor, tipping his head back against the wall and sighing. He hadn’t thought to bring a book, or even his phone. Before he could fully realise his mistake, the door flew open and slammed against the wall, the bell tinkling loudly. Dean spun to face the entrance.  
Standing in the doorway was a man with ruffled black hair and stunning blue eyes. He looked to be in his early twenties, like Dean. One of his eyes was surrounded by bruises that were just starting to show, and his lower lip was dribbling blood onto the collar of his filthy white shirt. He was wearing an old beige trench coat covered with blood and dirt. His black slacks were ripped at the knees, and bare feet were covered with cuts. 

He was beautiful.

Anger consumed Dean at the thought of someone hurting the man. The blood dripping down his face made him look like a war hero, like a man consumed with fierce anger and gut wrenching sadness. He looked… broken.

Dean was startled out of his reverie when the man started removing his clothes. He shrugged out of the trench coat and rolled it into a ball, shoving it into an unused washing machine. Then he proceeded to unbutton his shirt and wrestle his way out of it, revealing the hard planes of his pale torso. His chest was muscular and lean, but covered in bruises to match his face. Dean gulped. The man stuffed his shirt unceremoniously into the washing machine. He still hadn’t noticed Dean, standing in the corner frozen in place. As we went to unbutton his pants, however, Dean jerked into motion. Not that he wouldn’t have wanted to see that, but it felt a little too much like spying.

The man raised his head as Dean walked towards him, but said nothing. Dean stopped a few metres away, trying to avoid staring at his naked chest.

‘Do you… are you alright?’ 

The man stared at Dean, then lowered his gaze. ‘I’m fine,’ he deadpanned, fumbling in the pockets of his pants. His voice was low and rough, and Dean tried to ignore the immediate response deep in his stomach. The man pulled out a handful of loose change and began to count, ignoring Dean completely. Dean moved closer, but the man took no notice. Finally, he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man froze, his head shooting up and the coins spilling from his hands. The room was silent but for the sound of coins against the tiles. 

Dean carefully removed his hand, silently berating himself. The man made no move to pick up the coins. Instead, he stared at Dean, his expression a mixture of fear and confusion.

‘Sorry,’ Dean said. ‘I just – have you seen a doctor? What happened to you?’

The man slammed the door to the washing machine closed. ‘I don’t need to see a doctor,’ he replied.

Dean shook his head firmly, not missing the fact that the man had neglected to tell him what had happened. ‘Yes, you do. Those cuts are going to get infected, and that eye definitely needs to be looked at.’

The man turned away firmly. ‘I’m not going to a doctor.’ Dean contemplated pushing the matter, but the man’s voice was tinged with panic. This didn’t seem to be a casual aversion to doctors.

Later, Dean would wonder why he hadn’t just let it go, why he cared that the man got help. He didn’t know him, didn’t even know his name. He just seemed so… wrecked. Whatever the reason, Dean wasn’t going to let this man walk out of that laundromat without getting some sort of help. 

‘Look, if you don’t want to go to a doctor, fine. I’ll just take you to my place and clean you up a little.’

The man tilted his head. ‘You don’t know me.’ It wasn’t a question.

Dean blushed a little, realising how strange he must have sounded. ‘I – I know. But I just – I’m not going to let you leave when you could drop dead from an infection, okay?’

The man said nothing.

Dean ran a hand through his short brown hair. ‘Come on, I’m not going to take you home and murder you. I’ll just give you some antiseptic and gauze and stuff.’  
The man was silent for a few seconds. Then, finally, he said, ‘Alright’.

Dean huffed out a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Okay, come with me, we can take my car.’ Dean hesitated. ‘Unless you have a car?’

The man looked down. ‘No.’  
Dean paused. Did that mean that he hadn’t driven here, or that he didn’t own a car at all? ‘Uh, ok. Hang on.’  
Dean bend down to pick up the coins off the floor and the man followed suit. Dean tried not to focus on the image of this beautiful half-naked man on his knees. When they had gathered all the money, Dean poured it into the man’s open palms. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Dean tried to repress of shiver. His long, pianist’s fingers were warm and dry, and Dean looked down quickly. The man fed some of the change into the washing machine, and then followed Dean out of the laundromat.

 

‘So what’s your name?’ Dean asked, desperate to break the silence in the car. The man had said nothing upon entering the prized 1967 Chevrolet Impala, simply staring out of the windshield at the rows of apartments passing them. Dean had offered his jacket, but he had declined, leaving Dean desperate for something to focus on other that the expanse of hard flesh in his peripheral vision.

The man turned to face him. Dean got a shock as he realised that his eye had begun to swell. ‘Castiel,’ he murmured. ‘My name is Castiel.’

Dean smiled to himself. ‘Cas huh? Suits you.’ It did suit him – the graceful lilting quality, the fact that it was so unique.

Cas tiled his head slightly, his gaze now firmly fixed on Dean, but said nothing. 

‘I’m Dean.’

Cas remained silent.

‘So, Cas. What happened to you?’ He might have been pushing his boundaries a little now, but Dean was just too curious to let it slide.

Castiel said nothing for a beat. Then: ‘I was attacked by a man. He stole my belongings.’

Dean flicked his eyes to Cas, and then back to the road, his hands clenching around the wheel. ‘Have you been to the police?’  
Castiel let out a dry laugh, a mockery of joy. He shook his head to himself, smiling bitterly. Dean’s heart sank. All of a sudden, he wished Castiel would laugh sincerely, happily. He wished he could make him laugh like that.  
‘No, I have not been to the police,’ Castiel said, a cynical smirk still tugging at the side of his full lips.  
‘Why not? They could help, you know. I could-’  
Castiel cut him off. ‘I’m not going to the police.’ His tone brooked no argument. Dean raised his hands briefly in defeat.  
‘Alright, no police.’  
They spent the rest of the drive in silence, the rattling of the heater the only noise to fill the car.

‘Okay, we’re here.’

Dean got out of the car and waited for Cas. The high rise apartment building looked out over the streets of the city, and a park that stretched out in front of it. The meticulously groomed lawns framed clean pathways and bustling storefronts. The sounds of birds, chatter, and motorways filled the air. Dean looked at Cas as he exited the Impala, his battered body looking so out of place in the tranquil street.

Cas was gaping up at the apartment. He turned to Dean. ‘You live here?’

Dean nodded, a little uncomfortable. ‘Uh, yeah. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.’

They entered the building and took the elevator to the top story. Cas said nothing, but Dean noticed him fidgeting as he stood. Dean wondered where he was used to living.

When they reached his floor, Dean drew Castiel out of the elevator and into the apartment. It was spacious and tastefully decorated, with pale walls, artfully arranged couches, and a kitchen in one corner. Windows lined the wall that looked out over the park, and a hallway led off to Dean’s bedroom. Cas shuffled inside, and Dean closed the door behind them.

‘Alright, just sit down and I’ll get the medical stuff.’ He gestured to one of the sofas, and Cas gingerly sat. Dean hurried into his bedroom and retrieved the box he kept stuffed in his wardrobe. When he returned, he placed it on the coffee table next to the couch and sat beside Cas. He opened the box and took out antiseptic and gauze.

Dean gingerly raised the antiseptic-covered gauze to Cas’s face, holding his breath as he realised how close they were. Cas looked directly into his eyes. Dean swallowed. ‘This, uh, might sting a bit.’

Cas didn’t move. Dean gently dabbed at the cuts around his eye. Cas didn’t wince, and made no sign that he felt anything other than a slight tensing of the jaw. When he was done, Dean moved on to Cas’s chest, which was scraped up – likely from hitting the pavement. The muscles of his chest jumped slightly as the cool liquid touched them, and Dean’s breath hitched. He cleared his throat. ‘Okay, could you turn around? I need to see if you have any cuts on your back.'

Cas obliged, shifting on the couch until the smooth expanse of his back was facing Dean. It was marred with scratches and cuts, and Dean felt anger burn in his throat. Gently, softly, he wiped at the dirt-crusted sores, until they were clean and beginning to clot. Cleaned up, Dean could tell that they weren’t so serious as to be life threatening, but the anger still clawed at his chest. He said tightly, ‘You can turn around now.’

Dean was startled once again at the swelling of Cas’s eye when he turned. ‘You need to put some ice on that.’ He stated, rising from the couch.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Cas said, reaching for Dean’s arm. Dean shrugged out of Cas’s grip, inwardly beaming at the contact.

‘I’m getting you ice, and you’re going to sit there and use it,’ Dean stated firmly.

He opened the freezer, grimacing at the lack of ice, and reached for a packet of frozen peas long expired. ‘So, not ice. But it’ll do the job,’ he called to Cas.

Wrapping it in a towel, he brought it back and tentatively held it to the skin around Cas’s eye. Cas was completely still. Dean realised that he could have simply given the peas to Cas to hold to his face. In the same moment, he realised he didn’t want to. He liked being close to Castiel.

After a few minutes of silence, Cas spoke softly. ‘Thank you.’

Dean smiled. ‘It’s no problem. Seriously, I was afraid you were going to die.’

Cas held his gaze. ‘Thank you. No one – no one else would have done this.’

 

Cas spent several hours in the apartment, at Dean’s insistence. He kept finding himself searching for reasons to make Cas stay – first, he had to have a shower to clean himself up. Then there was the question of clothes, which Cas was unwilling to take, but which Dean eventually wore him down into accepting. Dean didn’t ask about why Cas hadn’t gone to the hospital, and Cas didn’t volunteer the information. It bothered him, but whenever he asked too personal of a question, Cas would clam up for minutes at a time. And Dean liked it when Cas talked.

He talked about everything, from religion to bees – he had really opened up after the original hesitance. Dean spoke about his family and his job. He was employed at his father’s business chain, along with his brother Sam. Cas seemed to enjoy hearing about his family, and Dean obliged him, recalling youthful misadventures with Sam and disastrous business meetings with his father, John. Whenever Dean asked about Cas’s family, however, Cas would go silent and avoid his gaze. Eventually, he gave up.

After a few hours, however, there really was no reasonable excuse to make Cas stay any longer. Cas stood at the open door, clothed in a fresh shirt and pants, with shoes on his feet and spare gauze bundled in his hands. Dean held the door, looking at the man. He seemed hesitant, after all the insistence on leaving.

‘Thank you, Dean.’

Dean grinned at him. ‘Any time. Seriously, if you ever need some help, just come here. And if anyone attacks you again, you sure as hell better let me help.’

Cas nodded, but Dean got the feeling that Cas would not be likely to reach out for assistance.

As Cas stepped out of the apartment, Dean closed the door and shut his eyes, turning his back to rest against the door. His head tipped back and he let out a sigh as he realised that he was unlikely to ever see the fascinating, mystifying man again.

 

Two weeks later, Dean strode down the path to his office. He’d never used to walk there, favouring a quick drive in the Impala. But ever since meeting Castiel, he’d held onto the ridiculous hope that he would run into him near the laundromat again. Dean knew it was naïve, but the man had shown him a life beyond work and family. Dean was… lonely. And Cas had made him feel whole. He hadn’t spoken to another person like he had to Cas since he was a child. Sure, he had Sam and John, but their conversations rarely extended beyond work. Cas, on the other hand… Cas could talk about everything. Cas asked about everything. He listened to Dean as if what he said was important.

Dean was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly tripped over someone on the sidewalk. He swore, apologising profusely, and looked down. A man was wrapped an old coat, hunched against the chill of the morning. He looked up at Dean, and a shock went through him as he recognised those piercing blue eyes. Dean forgot how to breathe.

‘Cas?’ he choked.

Cas stood slowly, looking down. ‘Hello Dean.’ His deep voice was soft, as if he were ashamed.

‘What-’ Dean swallowed. ‘What are you doing here?’

Cas still refused to make eye contact. ‘I, uh. I live here.’

Dean felt tears burn in his eyes, and he blinked them away angrily. He’d guessed that Cas didn’t have the best living situation, but he’d never imagined that he was homeless.

Before he could think, he took Cas’s arm. ‘Come on. You’re going to get a job at my company, and you can stay with me until you can afford your own place.’ Okay, so technically it wasn’t his company, but it was family owned, and Dean was sure John would let him bring a new employee.

Cas just stared at him. ‘What?’ His voice was little more than a whisper.

‘You heard me. Come on.’

‘No, Dean, you don’t have to do that. You’ve done enough for me, really.’ Cas sounded so sincere. It broke Dean’s heart.

Dean set his jaw. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to my apartment and you can start work tomorrow.’

‘Dean that’s ridiculous, I can’t let you-’

‘Dammit Cas, I’m not going back to my apartment knowing that you’re out here! So either you can come with me, or I’m staying here until you do.’

Cas looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Why?’

Dean faltered. ‘I – I want to. And I like you and you deserve better than this.’

Cas was silent. His face was vulnerable and surprise was etched into every line. Then, slowly, he nodded. ‘Thank you, Dean.’

 

Cas had been living with Dean for several weeks. Over this course of time, Cas had slowly opened up to Dean about his past. His dad had been a deadbeat, who left when he was five. His mother had been a drunk who hadn’t paid the bills, and eventually Cas had left in the hopes of finding work. However, he hadn’t been able to find anything reliable, and had been unable to afford any housing.

At first, he had been obviously uncomfortable at the idea of staying with Dean without paying. He’d expressed gratitude in every form possible, but Dean could tell he wished he could do more. He cleaned the dishes daily, tidied up after Dean, and made dinner despite Dean’s insistence that he relax. However, over time he seemed to have adjusted slightly, though he still loved to cook. He was also an extraordinary employee. John had been sceptical about hiring a man with no credentials, but Dean had vouched for him, and John had eventually complied. Cas had an affinity for mathematics and a GED, and he picked up the basics of filing easily. Every day they’d come home and make dinner and talk about their pasts or books they’d read or people at work. Cas would sleep in the spare room. Dean would smile to himself in his bed at night, secretly wishing that Cas didn’t have to leave.

This night was no different. When Dean got out of the shower, he got dressed and walked through to the kitchen. Castiel was already there, boiling water to make pasta. Dean grinned, shaking his head.

‘You know, you don’t have to make dinner.’

Cas turned to him, his face serious. ‘I like cooking.’

Dean chuckled softly, walking up to Cas. ‘Alright then. How can I help?’

Cas pointed him to a chopping board piled with vegetables. ‘You can chop, if you want.’

Dean grabbed a knife and started to chop. Everything in his life seemed to be classified into two sections – before Cas, and after Cas. Before, he’d stay up late watching crap T.V and order fast food, which would be considered breakfast seven hours later. Now, post-Cas, they’d eat a cooked meal filled with vegetables that he mightn’t have touched under other circumstances, sitting at the table. They went to bed at a reasonable hour to accommodate Cas’s admirable work ethic, and on weekends they’d go to bookstores or movies rather than sitting alone in the apartment drinking. Even Sam had commented on Dean’s newfound happiness, saying that ‘Cas has been a good influence on you, man.’ Dean was pretty sure that everyone around him knew that he had utterly fallen in love with the blue-eyed man. Except for Cas, of course. Dean wasn’t even sure if he was into men.

Dean was jerked back into the present with a stinging sensation of his finger. He looked down and blood dripping down his hand. ‘Dammit,’ he growled, and reached for a towel.

Cas looked over, noticing the blood. ‘Dean! Are you okay?’ He hurried to Dean’s side, grabbing the towel from his hands and gently holding it to the cut. The pain vanished as their fingers touched, and Dean felt suddenly warm.

‘Yeah, uh, it’s fine. Don’t worry, it’s just a little cut.’

Cas looked up at him past furrowed brows. ‘You’re bleeding, Dean. That’s not fine.’

Dean shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. ‘I think I’ll survive.’

Cas dragged him to the couch, taking the towel with him. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He disappeared into the hallway and returned, as promised, with Dean’s medical box. A laugh rose in Dean’s throat. Cas tilted his head. ‘What’s funny?’

Dean smiled. ‘Well weren’t we in this exact situation a few weeks ago with you?'

Cas hesitated, then smiled softly. He reached for Dean’s hand, and Dean couldn’t hide his quick intake of breath. Cas immediately let go. ‘What’s wrong? Did that hurt?’

Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice.

‘Dean, did I hurt you?’

‘No, Cas. Really.’ 

Cas looked uncertain, but reached for his hand again, wrapping it in gauze. He looked up at Dean as he was finishing, and Dean couldn’t help but notice that they were close enough to share breath. His eyes flicked down to Cas’s lips – plump, begging to be bitten – and back up to his eyes. Cas seemed to be breathing heavier than normal, and Dean’s pulse jumped. Dean had fantasized, obviously, that Cas felt the same way about him that he did about Cas, but reality never failed to drag him down. Cas viewed him as a friend at best, as someone who took him in and whom he owed. But… Cas was staring hungrily at Dean’s mouth. Slowly, Dean leaned towards Cas, never taking his eyes off Cas’s. When their lips met, fireworks went off in Dean’s mind. He shifted on the couch, pushing Cas down onto his back and pulling at his shirt. He bit down on Cas’s lower lip and Cas groaned beneath him, making Dean growl in approval and causing desire to form in his lower stomach. Cas’s mouth moved hesitantly against his at first, but slowly grew more confident. He reached behind Dean’s head and ran a hand through his hair – softly, at first, and then harder. Dean’s mouth moved down to Cas’s neck, and Cas tilted his head as he so often did, only this time it was to allow better access for Dean’s lips. Dean kissed his way down, then sucked, hard enough to bruise. He wanted people to know, to see the bruise and know that Dean had put it there. Cas let out a breathy moan that made Dean nearly rip his clothes off, and he shuddered with repressed desire. Just as Dean was about to tug at Cas’s shirt, Cas pulled back.

‘Wait.’ Dean immediately backed off, afraid of what Cas was going to say, but more afraid that he’d crossed a line he could never return from.

Cas looked up at him. ‘Do you – do you really want this?’

Dean felt like laughing. ‘I thought you could tell.’

Cas blushed, and it looked so enticing that Dean had to force himself not to kiss him.

‘I mean – are you sure? You’re not just… I don’t know. Being nice?’

Dean stared at Cas. The thought that anyone would want to lie to him, to this beautiful, caring, wonderful man shocked him. That he thought that Dean wouldn’t want to be with him shocked him even more. ‘Cas. I’ve wanted to do that since the day we met at the laundromat.’

Cas looked down and blushed harder.

‘Castiel, look at me.’ Cas raised his eyes, realising that that was the first time Dean had called him by his real name. ‘I love you. I’m totally in love with you. You’re amazing and wonderful and-’ and you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I’d be, Dean thought. ‘And I love you.’

Castiel held his gaze, despite fidgeting shyly. Dean’s heart was in his throat. ‘I love you too Dean,’ Cas said, his voice barely audible. ‘I thought you liked women, so I didn’t want to say anything.’

Dean couldn’t stop from beaming. He felt like he might combust, like the happiness couldn’t be contained within his body. Cas loved him. Cas loved him and he loved Cas and everything was right.

He leaned in to kiss him, which was difficult when he couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at his lips. Cas laughed into his mouth. ‘Stop, I’m trying to kiss you,’ he complained.

‘Shhhh’, Dean shushed, reaching for Cas’s shirt. ‘Let’s go through to my bedroom.’


End file.
